The Week Before the Wedding

by Beth Kendrick

  “No,” Bev said. “But I’ll have to remember that for next Christmas.”

  “We hid five travel alarm clocks all over their room,” Georgia crowed. “Under the couch cushions, in the drawers, on the top shelf of the closet.”

  “Don’t forget the one I taped to the back of the nightstand.”

  “Yes, they’ll have to hunt for that one. Genius, I tell you!”

  “Five alarm clocks,” Emily repeated.

  “And they’re all set to go off at different times tonight.” Bev chortled. “Two thirty-three a.m., three eighteen a.m., four forty-eight…”

  Emily shook her head. “Remind me never to cross you two.”

  “They started it.” Georgia shook her fist, dropping the rest of the shoes. “You give me compression socks, you will pay.”

  “You can’t tell anyone.” Bev, crying from merriment, wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her shirt. “Grant’s not with you, is he?”

  “No. No, I was just, um…” Emily felt a blush seeping into her face. “You better hurry back to the bar and return Rose’s key before she figures out it’s gone.”

  “First we have to hide all the shoes! But where?”

  “Ooh, I know! How about the Dumpster?”

  “Now run along, sweetie.” Bev dismissed Emily with a little flick of her wrist. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow, and you need your beauty sleep.”

  “We know Rose and Darlene won’t be getting theirs!” More convulsive giggles.

  “You can’t tell anyone about this. Ever.”

  “I saw nothing. I heard nothing.”

  “Good girl.” Georgia gathered up the fallen shoes and turned to Bev. “Let’s go. The night is young! And I believe Brad the concierge mentioned something about strip poker.”

  Emily put her hands over her ears. “I’m not hearing this.”

  “Don’t be such a prude. It should be a crime for that boy to wear a shirt!” Georgia all but purred. “I tell you, Emmy, I’ve been to the Louvre, the Met, the Tate Gallery, and I’ve never seen a torso like that.”

  “We could play cards,” Bev agreed. “Or we could just go cow tipping.”

  “Ooh, that’s so rustic!”

  “Aaand I’m going to bed.” Emily resumed walking down the hall. “Try not to break any more laws before sunrise.”

  “We’ll try,” Bev said.

  “But we make no promises,” Georgia added. “Either way, I’ll be at your door bright and early to make you beautiful.”

  “And smile, little lamb!” Bev beamed. “In less than twelve hours, you’ll be Mrs. Cardin!”

  Grant was MIA.

  Again.

  Emily blinked against the bright morning sunlight streaming through the blinds and frowned at the empty side of the bed. She had no idea where he’d gone or when he’d left.

  Last night she’d felt sure she’d be tossing and turning with anticipation. But by the time she slipped into bed, Grant was already deeply asleep, and she’d synchronized her breathing to his: slow and steady and peaceful.

  But now he was gone.

  She fumbled for her phone on the nightstand and started dialing his number, imagining endless medical catastrophes that might have called him away in the middle of the night. But before the call went through, Grant strode through the door, exuding confidence and vitality in his running shorts. He carried a cup of coffee in each hand and gave her a dimpled grin when he saw her.

  “Good morning, angel. Happy wedding day.”

  How many women would kill to be in her place? On the receiving end of a heart-stopping smile from the man about to pledge his life to her?

  He sat down on the bed and kissed her forehead. “Sorry I stink. I did a few extra miles.”

  “You don’t stink; you smell good.” Emily stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “What time did you get up? You should’ve woken me. I would have gone running with you.”

  He shook his head. “No way. Your mom and my mom pulled me aside last night and gave me some dire warnings about what they’d do to me if you tripped on a root and twisted an ankle before you walked down the aisle.” He paused. “When did those two get to be best friends, anyway? Don’t get me wrong—I think it’s great. My mom has always been so caught up with me and my dad and taking care of the house that she never had time for book clubs or girls’ nights or any of that. But when those two get together…” His eyes took on a haunted, hunted look. “They’re kinda scary.”

  “You’re telling me.” Emily sat up and took a tiny sip of coffee. “I still can’t believe you went running. You’ve been going nonstop for the last few days. Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “I spent the last twelve years sleeping in fifteen-minute increments in an on-call room. I can survive indefinitely on caffeine and adrenaline.”

  Emily laughed. “I don’t know that weddings and adrenaline really go together.”

  “They do,” he assured her, peeling off his sweat-soaked T-shirt. “I feel like I’m a Navy SEAL ready to go into enemy territory.”

  “That’s so romantic.”

  “Hey, I’m a surgeon, not a poet.” He walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower. “How about you? How do you feel?”

  She did a quick gut check as she mulled this over. “I feel good.” Surprisingly so. “Great, actually.”

  “No jitters?”

  “None.” She could see her wedding dress, freshly steamed, hanging on the back of the door in a clear plastic garment bag.

  “No more panic attacks?”

  “I’m not panicking. I kind of expected to be nervous, but I’m not.” She climbed out of bed. “We’ve got this. I am locked, loaded, and ready to go.”

  “Like a Navy SEAL.”

  “Exactly.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a clean shirt for him. “Now shower and get out. It’s all kinds of bad luck for you to see me right now.”

  He chuckled. “You sound like my mom.”

  Emily clutched the shirt to her chest in mock horror. “That’s it—the wedding’s off.”

  “You say that now.” He pulled her close and kissed her neck. “But I have ways of changing your mind.”

  “You’re going to make my decision tree limbless?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  He froze, his expression puzzled. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She coughed. “Never mind. It’s just this stupid thing Ryan used to—”

  “This is about Ryan? Again?” But before she could respond, he stepped back and ran his hand through his hair. “Don’t answer that. That was an unfair question.”

  “No, I think we should talk about it.” She reached out to him.

  “It’s fine, angel. We’re both on adrenaline overload.”

  “But—”

  He crossed back to the bathroom and turned off the shower. “I think I’ll do one more lap around the lake. Want to come?”

  She dropped her arms and let him go. “Yeah, but I have to do hair and makeup and basically pretend I’m getting ready for the Oscars.”

  “It’s good to be a guy. See you in a few hours.”

  “I’m back. I’m back but I’m not looking at you. Forgot my suit.” Half an hour later, Grant reappeared, even sweatier than before. He kept one hand over his eyes, the other outstretched for the hanger.

  Emily, half in and half out of her bridal underwear, located his charcoal gray suit in the closet. “Don’t leave. I need help. My mother is supposed to be helping me, but she’s late. Probably sleeping off strip poker with your mom.”

  Grant dropped the hand from his eyes. “What?”

  “Nothing. Can you give me a hand for a second?” She turned around to show him the foundation garment with all its crisscrossed ribbons. “I can’t fasten this thing by myself.”

  Most men would have been flummoxed by the intricate web of lacing, but Grant was used to working with the thinnest strands of filament and tying complex knots. He set his suit aside and got down to work with brisk
efficiency.

  “This looks uncomfortable.”

  “Not really.” Emily gasped as the boning cut into her waist. “Maybe a little.”

  “How tight does it need to be?”

  “Tighter than that.” She held on to the doorframe as he cinched her in. “Tighter. Tighter.” She couldn’t help laughing at her reflection in the mirror over the dresser. “This is so not hot. This is the opposite of hot.”

  He laughed, too. “Lacing you into a corset? It’s a little hot.”

  “Unlacing my corset so you can ravish me would be hot,” she countered. “Trussing me up in this god-awful contraption is—oof!” She blew out her breath as he cinched the closures at the bottom.

  “Almost done.” He stepped back, assessing their progress. “Can you suck it in a little bit more?”

  “I am sucking it in.” But she redoubled her efforts, exhaling and lifting her breasts and squeezing her torso until she swore she heard her rib cage crunch. “This thing fit five days ago.”

  “Almost there.” With one final, intestine-twisting yank, Grant secured the hook and eye closure at the base. “Okay. You’re good to go.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “We could secure it with a few loops of duct tape,” he offered. “But I think it’ll hold.”

  They heard the click of the doorknob turning, then Georgia’s voice, high and breathy. “I’m here, Emmy. I’m here. Don’t fret. I just got caught up—” She gasped in horror when she glimpsed the groom and the bride together. “Grant, what on earth are you doing in here? Skedaddle!” Georgia shoved him out, slammed the door, then rounded on her daughter.

  “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Emily said by way of defense. “I don’t want to be late for my own wedding.”

  “Have I taught you nothing?” Georgia demanded. “Your husband should not be helping you finagle your way into that girdle. That’s no way to entice a man.”

  “Well, he did manage to get it closed, which is more than I could do.” She beckoned her mother closer, then confided, “I gained two pounds.”

  Georgia gave her a critical once-over, then gave a satisfied nod. “Don’t worry; it doesn’t show.”

  “It’s because I ate cookies and s’mores and champagne. With Ryan. And then Summer brought me a milk shake.”

  “As long as all the buttons button, we don’t have a problem.” Georgia unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the delicate froth of tulle and lace. “You’re going to look perfect, baby girl.”

  Emily held up her arms and tried not to move while Georgia arranged the gown around her. She watched their reflections in the mirror, a mother and daughter completing a timeless ritual, and was filled with a sharp, sudden ache for her father.

  “I wish Daddy could be here,” she said softly. “To walk me down the aisle.”

  “Me, too.” Georgia stopped fussing with the shoulder seams. “He’d be so proud of you.” She paused, her glossy pink lips parted, and Emily knew she was searching for words that she would never find. Words to explain and apologize for her decisions since Cal died.

  In a rush of love and gratitude, Emily took both her mother’s hands. “Thank you, Mom. Thank you for everything.”

  Georgia extricated one hand and fanned her face. “Don’t you dare make me cry. I don’t have time to redo my makeup.”

  Emily felt tears welling in her own eyes. “Don’t make me cry.”

  They both tried to hold it in, sniffling and laughing and admonishing each other, and they were still trying to wipe off the mascara smudges under their eyes when Bev walked in.

  “Are you girls all right?” Bev asked.

  “Oh, we’re fantastic as always.” Georgia dabbed on some concealer. “Just got a little emotional.”

  Bev touched the strand of pearls at Emily’s throat and smiled. “Honey, you look breathtaking. Just breathtaking.”

  “You’re looking pretty good yourself,” Georgia said to Bev. “You’re going to hook yourself a hottie at the reception, mark my words!”

  Bev gave Emily a look. “Your mother certainly has a wild imagination.”

  Emily grinned. “She certainly does.”

  Georgia put down the concealer and picked up her eye shadow. “Did either of you happen to see Rose and Darlene this morning?”

  “They were late for breakfast, believe it or not.” Bev winked. “But Melanie saw them heading into town. Something about an emergency shoe-shopping trip?”

  Georgia’s smile was positively sharklike.

  Bev tried—and failed—to hide a little smirk. “Mel said they both looked exhausted.”

  “They should have come to me,” Emily said. “I’d be happy to share my cucumber undereye cream.”

  “Mission accomplished.” Georgia moved on to the next order of business. “Did you invite Brad to the reception?”

  Bev went all fluttery. “Yes, I did. And I made sure the wedding planner seated him at our table. Right between you and me.”

  “You’re learning, Grasshopper.” Georgia went to work on Emily’s face for a few minutes, then stepped back to assess her artistry. “Almost ready to get married?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Emily leaned forward to slip on her shoes, and felt something in the corset give way. “Uh-oh.”

  “Hold on.” Bev flexed her fingers. “I’ll get it.”

  Emily saw spots for a moment while Bev cinched in the corset with surprising strength for such a wee woman. “There.” Bev refastened the gown’s delicate pearl buttons with mind-blowing speed and precision. “All fixed.” She leveled her index finger at Emily. “Just take it easy, now. That’s the secret to this dress. Don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t bend. Just smile and look beautiful.”

  Emily ran her fingers along the whisper-thin silk around her waistline, checking to make sure everything was intact. So far, all the seams were holding. “I’m trying.”

  “Dude, let’s get this show on the road already.” Summer paced the vestibule of the tiny white clapboard chapel and dabbed at the nape of her neck with a tissue. Between her mint green bridesmaid dress and the fresh flowers in her hair, she looked every inch the refined lady. She still sounded, however, exactly like herself. “I’m dying of heatstroke over here.”

  “I cannot believe this church doesn’t have air-conditioning.” Georgia opened the jacket of her magenta silk dress suit. “My makeup is running.” She craned toward the doors separating them from the sanctuary, where a string quartet was finishing up a tasteful selection of Mozart and Bach.

  Caroline managed to look regal and refined despite the perspiration dotting her upper lip. “How are you holding up, Emily?”

  Emily forced herself to loosen her death grip on the lily-of-the-valley bouquet. “I’m fine.” She hadn’t even noticed the heat until Summer mentioned it—in fact, she felt a bit chilled. Numb, even.

  “I’m hot!” Ava and Alexis flung fistfuls of wilting flower petals at each other. “I’m thirsty!”

  “Girls!” Melanie scooped petals off the floor and back into the beribboned baskets. “Save some for the aisle.” She sidled over to Emily and murmured, “Meet me out back for a fake smoke break after the ceremony?”

  “I’m there,” Emily murmured back.

  Bev smoothed her hair. “I know it’s a bit warm, but this chapel is so quaint and picturesque.”

  “A bit warm?” Summer blew back her bangs. “It’s got to be a hundred and five in here!”

  “Patience, please.” Bev adjusted her gardenia corsage. “It’ll be a short ceremony, and the reception room at the Lodge will be nice and cool.”

  “My mascara is melting,” Georgia said. “I’ll look like a raccoon in the wedding photos.”

  Bev ignored the complaining and lined everyone up. “Places, girls. The wedding planner is going to open those doors in two minutes. Is everybody ready?”

  “Yes,” they all chorused.

  “Good. And don’t forget to smile.”

  When E
mily glanced down to make sure that her bouquet was facing the right way, she noticed that her wrist was bare. She snapped out of her daze as anxiety surged through her. “My bracelet fell off. I have to find it!”

  “Not now.” Bev shook her head. “We’re starting in two minutes.”

  “I promised Grant I’d wear it for the wedding.” Emily closed her eyes, trying to retrace her steps. “I know I had it on when I left the Lodge. It must’ve fallen off on the walk over here. Go tell the musicians to play the Bach piece again.” She tossed her bouquet at Summer and headed for the exit.

  “You stay here,” Melanie said. “I’ll go find it.”

  “No, I know exactly where to look.” She jostled past the human wall of bridesmaids. “Don’t start without me.”

  “Emily!” cried Bev. “Wait!”

  Summer strode toward the sanctuary. “Extended remix on the Bach. Got it.”

  “Be right back!” Emily dashed out of the chapel and scanned the flagstone path. It was only a few hundred yards from the Lodge to the church, but the lawn stretched out before her like an ocean. Desperate but determined, she bent forward to peer at the grass.

  “Dry heaves,” drawled a familiar male voice. “Classic symptom of second thoughts.”

  Emily looked up to find Ryan approaching. She’d never seen him in a suit before, and she was shocked at how imposing he looked. He wore the tailored twill with the same self-assurance he exuded in jeans and a leather jacket. Something about the cut of the fabric made him look even taller and his shoulders even broader. But his hazel eyes were flecked with gold in the sunlight, and she caught a glimpse of the boy he’d been beneath all that authoritative masculinity.

  “I am not dry heaving,” she informed him. “I dropped my bracelet in the grass and I can’t find it and it’s supposed to be my something blue, and everyone’s waiting for me and—”

  “Whoa. Slow your roll, there.” He rested his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off.

  “I need to find it right now!” She dropped to her knees, heedless of her hose and her gown, and raked her fingers through the grass. “The wedding’s starting in two minutes!”

  “Stop.” Ryan moved his hand to her elbow and lifted her back into a standing position. “I’ll find the bracelet. You start breathing.”